


Lost in Dreams

by Sparkleymask



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Game(s), Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparkleymask/pseuds/Sparkleymask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bull brushed his hand against Dorian’s jaw, threading his fingers into his hair, grey at the temples now where it used to be shaved short.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dorian smiled lazily at him, eyes soft. “What are you thinking about?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dorian’s skin was warm, even outside of the thin silk sheet that covered them; a pleasant luxury of the Tevinter summer. Bull slid his hand down Dorian’s arm, and returned the smile. “How much I missed you.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in Dreams

Bull brushed his hand against Dorian’s jaw, threading his fingers into his hair, grey at the temples now where it used to be shaved short.

Dorian smiled lazily at him, eyes soft. “What are you thinking about?”

Dorian’s skin was warm, even outside of the thin silk sheet that covered them; a pleasant luxury of the Tevinter summer. Bull slid his hand down Dorian’s arm, and returned the smile. “How much I missed you.”

“You don’t need to think about that anymore.” He took loose hold of Bull’s wrist, then stroked up the length of his arm, mirroring Bull’s actions. As if, after so many years apart, both needed to indulge in the novelty of these simple touches. “I’m here now.”

For a moment Bull’s attention drifted to the room beyond: glass doors open onto the balcony, the mildest of breezes carrying the heady perfume of vine flowers and muted birdsong across to the bed.

From far away, he thought he heard someone call his name.

Dorian ran his foot lightly up and down Bull’s leg, a comfort more than a tease. “Pay attention to me,” he said, a half-hearted play at petulance.

Bull grinned. He wrapped his arm around Dorian to pull him even closer. “I thought I was.”

“Not enough,” Dorian sighed, arching into the hold.

Someone was definitely call his name.

“Amatus,” said Dorian, digging his fingers into Bull’s back, pressing his lips against his collarbone, the smell of his skin, his hair tickling Bull’s jaw…

“Bull!”

He pulled back to look over his shoulder at the closed door. “Don’t you hear that?”

Dorian guided his attention back with a hand on his cheek. “It can’t be more important than this.”

It was easy to fall into a kiss. Dorian’s fingers skimmed round the back of his head, curling round the base of his horns. He had always loved that.

“Bull!” The voice was much closer now.

He sat up, twisting to face the door again. Had they locked it? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember when they had come here, or how long they had been here. “It sounds like…” He trailed off: she wasn’t the Inquisitor anymore. Nor was she technically his boss.

“I’m sure it can wait.”

Bull looked at Dorian. Something in his expression wasn’t quite right, but it had gone before he could work out what it was.

“Please,” Dorian said. He took Bull’s hand in both of his own. “It’s just been so long.”

There was an edge of plaintive desperation to his voice that Bull instinctively needed to soothe. He brought his free hand to rest at Dorian’s hip, a steadying, familiar gesture. “I know. I…”

Someone hammered on the door, hard enough to make it shudder on its hinges. Bull was on his feet in a second, pulling easily out of the tightened grip on his arm, and hurriedly locating his pants before going to the door. He opened it to find Trevelyan, looking alarmingly wild-eyed and with her fist raised as if about to knock again.

“Bull…” Her gaze flicked over him rapidly, a frown just beginning to crease between her eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” Once again the sudden sense of some unquantifiable wrongness, which slid away from him before he could grasp it. He stepped back, allowing her space to enter.

“That depends,” she said, glancing down the empty corridor before warily following him into the room, “on what you mean by ‘here’.”

Something like panic began to thrum under Bull’s skin. His mind strove to latch onto why.

“I wish you had sent word you were coming.” Dorian had half-dressed while Bull’s back had been turned, in pants and a crumpled undershirt. He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, weight leaned back on his hands. Too casual.

Trevelyan stared at him, mouth half-open on a forgotten response. “Bull,” she said eventually, unable to keep her eyes from flicking to Dorian every few seconds, “we’re in the Fade.”

“Absurd,” said Dorian, sharply. “There isn’t a demon that could trick me into believing it, and plenty have tried.”

Bull looked over and felt the relief of certainty wash over him. “Dorian has a point.”

“Bull, listen to me.” Trevelyan grabbed his forearm, tugged hard until he turned to her, not letting go when he did. There was a tremble in her voice, an undercurrent of fear, but he couldn’t be sure of the cause. “That isn’t Dorian.”

 _Of course it is_ , he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat. He would know. Wouldn’t he?

Dorian was looking at Trevelyan like she had gone insane, but his fingers were curled so tightly in the bedsheet they were on the verge of tearing it.

“Tell me how you got here,” she said.

“How…”

“The war has ended,” said Dorian, voice confident and steady despite the growing tension in his body. “Remember?”

It sounded right, a self-evident truth somehow not requiring a specific memory to confirm it. That he was here, that Dorian was here with him, seemed enough.

“We can finally be together.”

Bull felt Trevelyan’s fingers twitch on his arm and caught her expression – a flash of sadness – before she schooled it back to neutrality. “Tell me how you got here. To this room.” She hadn’t let go, as if she had any chance of holding him should he decide to pull away. “Try to remember what you were doing right before.”

Before. What had been before? It was as if there was something stopping him from thinking back. Fear, he realised. Every time he tried to turn his thoughts in that direction, he felt afraid. He pushed past it.

“Amatus…”

“Don’t call me that.” He could hear the lie in it now, though there was no discernible difference in tone to the countless times he had heard Dorian say it before. He focused on Trevelyan. “Where are we?” he said, calmer than he felt.

“A few miles outside Skyhold.”

He remembered…a cave. Varric shouting. He remembered Dorian’s voice, the crystal glowing in the dark of his room, plans to meet, _a few short weeks_. “Dorian’s in Tevinter,” he said.

“Where he will stay.” Dorian – the creature wearing Dorian’s face – was watching him. “The war will never end, and he will never return to you.”

Trevelyan’s hand slipped from Bull’s arm as he approached the bed, slow, careful steps, drawn there despite his better judgement and the horror creeping up his spine. “You can’t know that.”

“It’s what you believe.” It smiled with Dorian’s smile, Dorian when he knew he was right. “Why do you think your mind created this?”

Bull shook his head, unable to look away, equally unable to voice his denial. He had doubted. Of course he had. But that didn’t mean…

“It’s what he believes as well.” They were almost within touching distance now, and the perfect replica of Dorian looked up at him, still smiling gently. “I’ve seen it, when he dreams.”

“Please, Bull,” said Trevelyan, behind him.

“You can never have this if you go. If you stay,” it said, a warm murmur, not seductive but hopeful, Dorian when he wanted something desperately but was trying not to let it show. “I can make you forget. You can be with him forever.” It reached out, touched his wrist with delicate fingers. “You would never know the difference.”

It hit him like a wave of nausea, and he jerked his arm away from the touch. He turned to Trevelyan. “We’re leaving.”

Trevelyan’s eyes were wide with relief as she nodded sharply and headed for the door.

“No!” An angry snarl, Dorian’s fingers digging into his arm, pulling it back with an unnatural strength. Instinctively, Bull pulled forward, dragging the demon off balance and throwing it to the floor. Quicker than he would have thought possible, Trevelyan was on it – still wearing Dorian’s appearance but not him, _not him_ – her blade flashing across its throat with fierce, deadly accuracy.

Bull stared, frozen in place. He took one shaking breath, then two, then three, counting them in and out.

Trevelyan stood, admirably steady, but her face sickly pale. “We have to find Varric,” she said.

Bull forced his gaze from the body on the ground, and followed her to the door. He didn’t look back.

 

He woke, immediately reaching for his axe, fingers scrabbling in loose, dry dirt before wrapping around the hilt. He swung it from the ground, using the momentum to help pull him to his feet, but as he fell into an attack position he realised there was nothing to attack.

On his left Trevelyan was picking herself up, looking dazed; behind him, he heard Varric groan weakly and curse under his breath. A short distance ahead of them was what he had to assume were the remains of the demon that had trapped them.

“We must have…” Trevelyan rubbed the side of her head with the heel of her palm, frowning at the corpse. “…killed it in the Fade?”

Bull was barely listening. His hand closed around the crystal that hung against his chest, his grip so tight its edges pressed painfully into his palm. It was only when he heard Dorian’s voice, muffled at first by his hand, that he let go.

“Bull?” There was an edge of urgency in the word, probably because there had been no answer the first time he said it. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” he managed.

A small pause. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” The other two had wandered away, ostensibly to examine the demon’s remains, but he could feel them glancing back at him. “Just…wanted to hear your voice.”

Dorian huffed. “You’re a ridiculous man,” he said, almost to himself. There was no sharpness to it. Bull could picture his reluctant smile. “You can hear it as much as you like later. Now isn’t really…”

Distantly, Bull could hear rapidly approaching footsteps, a call of _Magister Pavus_.

“I have to go,” said Dorian, his voice lowered. “You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“Everything’s fine.”

The rapid footsteps were louder now, the voice, a woman’s, clearer: _Magister Pavus, they want you to…_ “We can speak properly tonight. I…” He stopped himself short. When he continued it was in a whisper, but clear, as if he was holding the crystal close to his mouth. “Stay safe.” Then, silence.

“It shouldn’t have been here,” Trevelyan was saying, poking a piece of flesh gingerly with her foot. She looked over at him. “Dorian will want to know about this.”

It was true, but there was more to it than that – Bull knew that with Solas gone and Vivienne many days’ travel away, Dorian was the only one she truly trusted to go to for advice on these matters.

“Listen, Boss,” he said, hefting his axe over his shoulder. “When you talk to him, maybe leave out the details.”

She gave him a long look, then shrugged. “If that’s what you want. But I think you should tell him.”

Bull tried to imagine telling Dorian that he had been fooled, easily, completely, by a demon pretending to be him. What Dorian’s reaction might be. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

She smiled tightly at him, and called over to Varric. “Let’s get out of here.”


End file.
